


love is a many-splendored thing

by kerrykins



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-29 00:01:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20072788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerrykins/pseuds/kerrykins
Summary: things i wrote in response to a writing duel between elle_nic, introvertedxtrovert, and i. comments are love <3





	love is a many-splendored thing

**Author's Note:**

> things i wrote in response to a writing duel between elle_nic, introvertedxtrovert, and i. comments are love <3

_ Prompt - Person A is working late. They come home to person B sleeping on the couch with 3 empty cups of coffee close to them. Person B was waiting for person A to come home. _

Andy pushed the door open, the unsteady clicking of her Blahnik heels echoing in the foyer. She still wasn’t accustomed to walking in them despite years of practice; she probably never would be. Miranda, who stomped around in six inch heels all day long, teased her relentlessly for it. Andy knew it was in jest.

She shrugged off her houndstooth tweed coat— one of her many gifts from Miranda— and carefully tucked it away in the closet. It was crazy to think that just last year she’d been hanging Miranda’s dry cleaning instead. Her days at Runway seemed like a lifetime ago.

She’d been looking forward to coming home all day, as the girls were with their father tonight, leaving the two of them to do as they please. Sometimes it was sex but more often than not, Andy and Miranda ended up watching a movie or going for a long walk. It was nice to just do nothing after a long day at work and Andy was pretty sure Miranda liked it too. Sadly, she hadn’t been able to leave the office earlier than 3:00 AM today. Andy had to finish revising an article of hers that was due to be published in the next day or so.

Miranda didn’t come bolting down the stairs to say hi, which Andy took as a sign that she was busy with the Book upstairs still. She always scolded Miranda for staying up so late but despite the numerous articles and reminders, the older woman would never listen to her. Miranda had the tendency to do whatever the hell she wanted.

Andy went up the stairs to find that their bedroom door was slightly ajar, light peeking through it. She nudged it open and couldn’t help but smile at the sight that greeted her.

Miranda was curled up on one of the armchairs, fast asleep. The Book lay open in her lap, three empty cups of coffee sitting atop a stack of paperwork on the table beside her. She was still wearing her reading glasses and her brow was knit in displeasure, even in sleep. Andy wondered if Miranda was dreaming about bossing everyone at Runway around. She probably was, Andy thought to herself amusedly.

With great care, she set all of Miranda’s things on the table and draped a nearby folded blanket over the older woman. Andy would carry her to the bed if she was strong enough but it didn’t go too well last time— half-naked and breathless, Andy had dropped Miranda onto the carpeted floor, issuing startled yelps out of the both of them. Never again, they had agreed afterwards.

Andy gingerly touched a mug of coffee and was surprised to find that it was still warm. Miranda must have just fallen asleep. She glanced back at Miranda, who was frowning deeply. Runway Andy would have been quaking in her Chanel boots at that expression, but now it only came off as adorable.

“Were you waiting for me?” Andy asked, pressing a quick kiss to Miranda’s cheek. She tucked a flyaway lock of silver hair back into place. Maybe it was her imagination, but before Andy left to get ready for bed, thought she saw the line between Miranda’s eyebrows smooth out and her lips twitch into a smile.

___

_ Prompt - Traveling. _

Miranda came to Korea for business, not pleasure. She certainly did not come here to get caught up in a rainstorm nor sit in a cafe for hours, with Andrea of all people.

Andrea approaches their table holding two coffees and slides one towards her, which Miranda immediately snaps up. When they’re both seated, Andrea produces a miraculously dry book from her bag and begins to read. Damp hair clings to her forehead, her face freshly scrubbed in the bathroom sink. Yet she looks so content to be here, reading her book and drinking coffee.

Miranda realises she’s staring, and jerks her head away before sipping at her coffee again. The coffee is sweeter and creamier than what she’s used to, but she finds she doesn’t mind too much. It’s just the two of them in the cafe right now— the single barista at the desk has disappeared into the back. Soft jazz floats from a speaker on the wood-panelled wall and rain pelts the windows outside, the sounds bleeding into one another.

After ten or so quiet minutes pass by, Miranda finally gathers up the courage to break Andrea’s focus from her book and clears her throat.

Andrea’s eyes meet hers, shining with warmth.

Miranda tilts her head at her. “What are you reading?” She absently traces her finger around the rim of her mug, hoping to mask her curiosity as nonchalance.

“Mrs. Dalloway. Do you need anything, Miranda?” Andrea shuts the book and peers at her.

“No,” says Miranda crisply. “Actually, tell Nigel we’re not going to make it on time to the shoot. They’ll have to start without us.” She rattles off more instructions, which Andrea scribbles down on a paper napkin.

“Is that all?”

“Not yet,” Miranda says before she can stop herself. When Andrea’s head jerks up to look at her, Miranda is at a momentary loss for words, but she recovers quickly. “Tell me about your book. Mrs. Dalloway.”

Andrea blinks before speaking. Tentatively at first, as if testing the waters, but as she goes on her confidence grows. Miranda doesn’t tell her that she’s read Mrs. Dalloway dozens of times already, that she has a worn copy of her own gathering dust on her bookcase.

Neither of them notice that the storm has passed until it is very late in the evening, when the coffee shop is closing up. The elderly Korean lady waves them out after giving them a paper bag full of free muffins. 

Miranda opens the door for Andrea, which she has never done before, but neither of them comment on the oddness of it. Outside the air is warm and heavy with humidity from the rain, clinging to their skin. The once-empty streets are packed with vendors selling fried squid and sweet bean buns. Even at night, Korea is alive with light and noise and fresh food. Men who have gotten off from work laugh over shots of soju. She sees couples sharing ice cream, hundred of voices speaking a language Miranda doesn’t know— yet something familiar stirs in her, warm and reassuring. She glances to her right at Andrea, whose eyes shine with an uninhibited kind of wonder that makes Miranda’s heart flutter like a kite in the wind.

Miranda has been to Korea a great many times and none of what they’re looking at right now is new to her. Yet the world feels fresh and full of wonderful possibilities. She isn’t entirely sure why but if she had to guess, it has something to do with the girl beside her. Andrea, who gives her kind smiles, warm coffee, and conversations about books she’s read a hundred times over. Miranda knows that she has a reputation for being impossible to please, but strangely enough, Andrea is all she needs right now. She’s all Miranda has ever needed or will in the future.

Without thinking, Miranda rests a hand on Andrea’s shoulder. The girl whips her head around to look at her, expectantly and enthusiastically.

Miranda clears her throat. “Which food would you like to try first?”

Andrea’s eyes brighten impossibly at that. “Everything.”

  
_ Everything. _ Miranda can work with that.


End file.
